This Is Why Our Love Must Die
by hyena
Summary: A diversion in the Hannibal/Clarice dynamics, involving international travel, alcohol abuse and many other funnies.


Clarice Starling sat next to her aunt's hospital bed, mildly annoyed, but not wanting to show it. Aunt Rose had never been close to her in any way and she'd repeatedly turned down her requests for college money; still this was no reason to be harsh on a woman who was approaching her death.  
"My dear Clarice, the doctors told me that I have no more than 48 hours left to live. And I want to ask you a favor before I pass away. Maybe you can help me better than anyone else."  
* There we go. Here's the reason why she's called on me now. She needs something done and she believes that being in the FBI I can do next to everything. Yeah, go figure. And what it is that she craves? A safe way to pass her miserable wealth to her miserable children without having to pay inheritance taxes? An intervention to get a delinquent sibling out of jail? Oh, my.*  
"Yes, tell me".   
*But why do I have to deal with people like this all the time?*   
As hard as she tried, Starling could not really muster any compassion towards the greedy old woman. And she shuddered when she noticed the insane light in Aunt Rose's eyes.   
*Maybe the nag is going nuts because of her ill health and now she'll ask me to deliver her message to the evil aliens who are, in fact, killing her.*  
"Do you remember the farm we used to have in Montana, before Uncle Peter died?"  
*Oh, shucks. So it is a hunt for rural memorabilia? And she thinks she needs a Special Agent for that?*  
Clarice really didn't see what was coming. Rose's voice registered the presence of tears somewhere between her stomach and throat.   
"You know I have devoted the best years of my life to cows. Black cows, white cows, brown cows… and oh, these beautiful multicolored cows. Cows to milk, cow's hide, cow dung, cow portraits, and then when technology allowed even cow photographs, cow scans, cow-themed digital art…"   
"Yeah, Aunt Rose, I get the point. You might want to reduce the effort, given that you don't really have lots of time. What do I have to do about these cows?"  
"The lovely animals… you have been brought up a city girl and you won't really recognize the inner beauty of these creatures. I loved them so."  
*Is she about to confess to zoophilia? Please spare me. And me? A city girl? How come that people never seem to agree on where I look like coming from? Maybe I should ask the mentally sane and compare their answers.*  
"I can understand your feelings. What now?"  
Aunt Rose went into a coughing fit and wisely decided she'd better instruct Clarice and then go back to sleep. After all, the girl - even with all of her mighty Federal means - would need a bit of time to carry through her mission, and it was not wise to waste all her day trying to show her what a precious friend a cow can be.  
"Well, there is something I always wanted to have but never managed to. There is a small island in Italy, called Murano. It is in the close proximity of Venice, apparently just twenty minutes from the city by boat. The inhabitants specialize in glass works, and they are famous all over the world for their expertise."  
* Stop sounding like Hannibal Lecter, please. Right, I know about the fine craftmanship of Murano's artisans. And? Please don't tell me what I think you are going to tell me.*  
"Dear Clarice, my most precious niece in this world, I would really like it if you could go there and grab a Murano cow for me to hold in my hands before I die. Please make it white and black, and relatively small. There is a purse on that chair, take all the money you need."  
*Oh dear.*  
"Well, Aunt, of course you are asking me to do something that is utterly stupid and a complete waste of energy. But since I'm no one to deny last wishes, I will take your money and embark on this idiotic two-day trip to Italy. I'll be right on my way, so I won't have the time to revise my ethical system and tell you to go fuck yourself instead. And maybe I'll make it back on time".  
Aunt Rose started to sob.  
"You're mistreating me…"  
She cut the drama short when she realized that her cow would come to her on time, since Clarice was storming out of the room with a purposeful expression.  
"And remember! Bicolor, and not too big!"  
With that, she smiled contentedly. She was sorely suffering from the pain in her lungs, but after all her dream would come true before her death. Ah, Clarice. After all she was a nice lady. Maybe she could tell one of her sons to marry her. The lucky candidate would be Ray, the one who just got out of jail after having raped a hapless cow. She might straighten him up and teach him not to abuse beautiful beings.   
In a minute, she was asleep, dreaming of abundant crops and morning milkshakes.  
  
Dr. Lecter swiftly and gracefully snuck out of the closet.   
Well, not that gracefully, all considered. He tripped over the cable connecting to the electrical network one of the complex instruments used to keep Aunt Rose alive. Maybe a mechanical respirator, he thought from the look of the cable itself. He was wrong: at the end of the wire there was just a small radio, and there was no sci-fi robot around to sustain her vital functions.   
*It must be my imagination again. Ouch, that hurted. I should stop acting like I know everything, but it's so into character that I am incapacitated to drop the attitude.*  
He lifted himself up from the floor and considered that the woman was still asleep.   
D'uh! This had been a real winner of an idea. He had never succeeded in facing Clarice and declaring his love to her, but he knew that following her around for some five or six years would sooner or later have yielded the occasion he needed to get over his shyness and finally open his heart. And there it was, the perfect chance, laid before him.   
She was traveling to Venice, which is noticeably the most romantic city of the universe. He didn't really know a thing about its history, art or architecture, but he'd have to catch up real quick. He couldn't afford to tell her that he didn't seriously know all there was to know; she probably would never go out on a date with him if she imagined that all the drawings of Florence were just a copy of a postcard he had received from his cousin years before, and it was a good idea to let her fall for the image of the cultured man. Some trusted, older friends had once told him that women develop a passion for the idea they have of their man, and once they're in the trap no proof of inclinations contrary to the one they have imagined will convince them that they were wrong. So, as long as he could play the role of the psycho intellectual, he had a chance of seducing her. Once everything was said and done, he could show her his Dragonball video collection and she would love it. Not before. Not before. This was a reason for suffering, but there is no true love without pain.  
Maybe in the shades of one or the other famous bridge, the name of which he would have to check online before leaving, he could be able to form a sentence the likes of "I really think you're a beautiful creature. Do you want to go out with me tonight?" without stammering, blushing, giggling, setting his hair on fire while trying to light a cigarette with virile manners, or accidentally kicking her scooter down while trying to stand a bit taller or a bit stiller. She didn't really have a scooter and even if she had one she wouldn't take it to Italy, but anyway - you get the point.  
He was getting dreamy and aroused, but he fought back the urge to lock himself in the hospital bathroom and proceed to relieve himself. He'd be content with the celestial feelings inspired by the memory of her beautiful face. He was a pure, sincere, poetic guy. There was no way his instincts were going to have the best of him.  
He crossed a male nurse on the way out of Aunt Rose's room.  
"And who might you be?" said the guy with an appreciative look.  
"Uh, nothing important, just someone who was in the closet so far".  
The man, who was a recently liberated homosexual, felt a profound empathy towards this handsome lad who had finally decided to reveal his true identity.  
"Good for you that you've decided to come out, mate. But with your looks, I daresay that you have lost many a chances by your remaining into hiding until now. What motivated you to do that?"  
*Oh, at last someone who understands my predicament. This is a sure sign that things are going to turn out for the better.*  
"Thanks so much for encouraging me. I simply didn't have the guts, that's it. But now this old lady with her cow-based deliria has given me the opportunity of my life. I have to go to Italy now, you will pardon me."  
And off he went. The nurse looked at his nicely shaped back and thought that cows weren't really a target worthy of that physique, but maybe Italian ones were different. He shrugged and went on to check Rose's blood pressure. He just barely noticed the open door to the closet in the corner, and closed it without second thoughts.  
  
Clarice Starling sits on the Vaporetto 12 and struggles to avoid falling asleep. She is jetlagged, irritated, hungry and annoyed by the persistent sunlight. She thinks with a hint of nostalgia to the fresh Alaskan summers she is used to, then she remembers she has never been in Alaska and drops the thought.  
*At least I could try to appreciate my surroundings. Here I am, immersed in one of the most beautiful European landscapes, and I cannot stop feeling like dozing off. There's something wrong with me.*  
The Venetian landscape passes by, and a touching sunset ignites the sky. Far from romantic thoughts, the brave Special Agent considers that it must be around 8 o'clock in the evening. Water rolls around the ferry, the usual public transportation means on these islands, and she curses her aunt for sending her on this mission while she had other serious stuff to attend to, say caring for Ardelia's flowers or maybe even working on her ever-persistent case, the escape of Dr. Lecter. The thought makes her feel guilty and embarassed.  
*Oh. Hannibal Lecter. He would be thoroughly disappointed in me if he knew that instead of taking in the beauty and the inspirational potential of this scenario I am thinking that I want to go home as soon as possible with the stupid cow for that other stupid cow. He would think that I'm insensitive and vulgar. So I'd better try to enjoy the sights.*  
At that, she shakes her head in disappointment. She shouldn't let that monster get into her head, but -believe it or not - she likes him. After all, lots of teenagers are in love with Eminem and they feel they are legit. Sure Lecter ain't any worse.   
She has spicy thoughts about him at night and, more often than not, during the day. It's not that she's ashamed of herself, but one month ago she read in Cosmopolitan that she shouldn't be grieving after a guy who obviously doesn't want to hear about her - not a call in years, and still she is thinking about him. She's read lots of self-help books but "Women Who Love Too Much" or even "Dianetics" didn't mention the option "I fell for a serial killer and he never called me back".  
At this, she sighs, shakes her head, and relaxes into her seat. It's still 12 minutes before arriving in Murano.  
  
  
A few rows back, Dr. Lecter himself sits, clad in winter clothes so as to avoid being recognized. He smiles absently, partially hidden by a heavy, leather-bound book. It's an Italian translation of Virgil's "Aeneas", but in the middle lies, open to his eyes, the latest issue of "Duck Tales", which he is devouring with a passion. Unbeknownst to him, Starling has already noticed his distinguished figure, but her mental comment has not been flattering - more along the lines of "Who is this idiot who wears a wool suit in August?". He does not know that she has labeled him as a potentially annoying sexual deviate, and has chosen a seat well far from his to avoid proposals along the lines of "Do you want to see what I've got under this heavy pants?".  
Still, he cannot think about anything else. He isn't even distracted by his favorite reading. He interprets Clarice's tired gestures as an expression of internal weariness, and concludes that she's in need of a strong man to help her through the adversities of life.  
*I'll be your hero. I'll bear on my shoulders the weight of the world for you, even if I cannot understand why they let you pass without complaining at the airport and stopped me instead, thinking that I was concealing drugs between the pages of my comics. They had the girth to say that I looked high on some illegal stimulant, but the only thing I know is that you'll never feel alone again. You'll never feel depressed. I'll be there for you. I'll hold you, protect you, and share all my sweets. *  
He is distracted from his romantic reverie by the sharp halt of the Vaporetto against the dock. The young seaman cries "Murano! Scendete, signori".   
He does not understand what the guy is rambling about, much like that other one in the hospital, but Clarice is proceeding to disembark. He hurriedly stands up, pushes an old lady to the ground in the process, hands her a £ 100.000 bill to express his excuses, and follows his Only True Love.  
When he realizes that the sum he's given is around 50 dollars, he wonders whether it was really necessary, but then he remembers that to impress women you should look very easy-going when cash is concerned.   
  
Starling catches a glimpse of the scene behind her.   
*That pervert again, handing out lots of money to innocent senior citizens. God knows what he is about. I'd better scramble off, I do not know the language and I don't want to get into arguments with maniacs.*  
She translates into practice her theoretical training. While deeply struck by the beauty of Murano's brightly painted houses and translucent canals, she enters a dark alleyway, then turns into another, then turns again and again, until she is convinced that that horrible man has lost her.   
*Now it's time to do my shopping. Then I can maybe have a cocktail and head home.*  
It is with sheer horror that she realizes that all shops around her are closed. The signs list 5 PM as shutting time. She has but one night to get what she came here for and it's not pleasant to see through the beautifully lit windows the object she needs, without being able to reach it.  
  
Dr. Lecter unknowingly shares her emotions as he gazes around him in one of Murano's piazzas.  
*And now where did she go? Why did I get distracted? You see, she doesn't like me, she didn't even notice me. Life really is horrible. All of this devotion and love for nothing. Not even a small thank you.*  
He feels like crying, but he holds back. He starts thinking about where she could have gone. Soon he comes up with what sounds like an excellent strategy. His Clarice is not a woman like all the rest, so it's sufficient to look where the large majority of people is heading and take a road in the opposite direction. This will undoubtably lead him to her.   
Proud of himself, he observes the crowd's movements for around 15 minutes, and then moves towards the less frequented alley.   
In half an hour's time he is completely lost, although the island is pretty small.   
Surrendering to impending depression, he stumbles into a cafè and orders the house's special. He likes the blend of Martini, gin and soda, and decides he can have another one. And two. And three.  
Soon he is sobbing into his glass, telling the barman about this Clarice woman he loves so much.   
The guy has pity on him for a moment and offers him a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to change into, believing that excessive heat can bear horrible consequences on already precarious mental equilibria. Then he kicks the eager Lecter out, noting the worried frowns forming on the faces of respectable patrons.  
  
It's around 11 PM and Clarice is nearing tears herself because it's obvious that no shop is going to open before the sun rises again. She wants to kick and scream and wail and whine but she doubts such behavior can seriously help her. Her flight is at 7 AM at Treviso Airport and she will have to come back to her aunt empty-handed. Not that she deserves anything, but the sole idea of this horrible trip turning useless besided unnerving is bothering her.  
It is now that she decides that she might even break the law and force her way into one of the inviting shops, steal a cow - better yet, grab it and leave money to pay for it and for the torn door - and head back to Alas… well, back home. She is a bit embarassed by the idea, and confused at the weird turn of events, but she comfort herself imagining what her one true mentor, Hannibal Lecter, might want to say about the impending breach of conformity.   
*If only he could be there. He'd sure know how to sort me out of this mess.*  
She remembers the video clip for Bjork's "All is full of love", a tune that always makes her think of him. She starts singing, and she sensually undulates her hips. Stress is a horrible thing.   
Lost in the vivid images her right hemisphere is conjuring, she obviously thinks she's prey to hallucinations when she sees the good Doctor in flesh and bone approaching her, clad in most trivial attire and swaying like a drunk.  
She cannot believe her ears when the figure, ever so near, slurs "Hello Clarice".  
*Huh?*  
*Huh yourself! Why don't you answer? This is rude, you know. And I don't like rude people… but I like you all the same… maybe you said nothing since I am not deserving...*  
Starling considers the late hour and the global weirdness of the situation, only to conclude that the guy in front of her, peculiar and inebriated as he might be, might come in handy.  
"Hello Dr. Lecter. I was thinking of you. Could you please open the door to that shop down there for me? I am in dire need of help and I am not ready to renounce my role as a law enforcer just yer."  
He has trouble acknowledging what she says, since everything is spinning a bit too fast and his lower abdomen acts funny, but after some minutes he makes all the necessary connections and bows to her as to kiss her hand.  
"Why yes my love. Do you have a credit card on you?"  
She knows better than to argue and proceeds to hand him her AmEx. He grabs it in a tentative gesture and drags himself to the place she indicates. While he slips the plastic rectangle between the door and the wall, he makes an effort to concentrate.  
*Idiot that you are. Listening to those who suggested she might be seduced by the literate and the thinker, while all she wants is the bad boy who can nick car stereos and pick locks. I'll never care for what they say again.*  
He is happy because finally he requests of him something he's good at. When he hears the awaited click, he swings the door open in a theatrical gesture and almost shouts "After you, my Northern Star".  
She thinks he is being cheesy, but she's grateful nonetheless.   
They enter in the dimly light shop. Glass glitters in every corner. He switches on the master light and expertly turns the general alarm off in one quick motion, marveling at his own ability. Well, he didn't remember being so good at violating property even if full of alcohol. He smiles to himself. Clarice notices it and dismisses the phenomenon: he's had at least five beers, she thinks, let him get lost in his own world.  
*I should be disappointed with him. Actually, I am. But there's no time for that now. He's just going to lean against a wall and try to come down while I look for my cow, then I'll say goodbye, blow him a kiss and go home to the memories of one stunning and sober psychiatrist I used to know.*  
So imagine her surprise when he silently approaches to her, encircles her waist with his arms, and whispers in her ear something that possibly means that he has a sexual craving for her.  
She really does not know how she should react.  
*This was the last thing I needed. First a demented aunt sending me halfway round the world to buy a glass cow. Then a guy I have lusted after for months, except in my fantasies he didn't smell of alcohol and didn't behave like a professional burglar, says he wants to make love to me in a public place where we shouldn't even be since we are breaking the law. I wonder if anything worse can happen to me.*  
It can. Passion overwhelms Dr. Lecter. He moves to face Clarice. He kisses her with the passion of a man who's hidden in furniture for entire semesters to find a way to be close to her. She returns the kiss, although slightly sickened by the taste of liquor on his breath.  
Nature takes its toll and he feels compelled to have her. He wants to approach the nearest table and lie on it for the much awaited embrace, so he takes three little steps back, still holding her tight. Lost in sensations, he does not realize that on aforementioned table a collection of little glass animals - mainly porcupines and other hostile creatures - is on display. So when he throws himself backwards on the wooden surface, while moving to pull her on top of him, eyes wide in anticipation of savage passion, he receives a stinging denial from the elements. All he can do is let out a horrible scream the very moment a good hundred of tiny glass pins pierce his t-shirt and the skin on his back.  
  
[The scene that follows is omitted out of respect for sensitive readers. All you need to know is that it involves one very sick Hannibal Lecter, MD, who finally gives back to the outside world all he's drunk during the day, and one disgusted Clarice M. Starling, Special Agent with the FBI, who tries to remove from his flesh a myriad of minuscule pieces of painted glass while he leans against a wall, dry mouth and closed eyes, yearning for a glass of water].  
  
Once all is said and done, Clarice grabs a couple of bicolor cows who had luckily escaped the onslaught, then she grabs Hannibal Lecter, who hadn't had a similarly blessed fate. They make their way to the Vaporetto stop and it's 3 am when they board line 12 back to Venice. They look like just another couple of drunken tourists who maybe have indulged in a bit of off-limits sex. He's sleeping heavily, head on her shoulder, lips slightly parted. She wants to toss him in the water, but this would probably spell even more trouble.  
  
She instantly lightens up. Her decision is made.  
  
At 12 AM, Hannibal Lecter finds himself in the emergency room of a vaguely familiar hospital. He has one hell of a hangover and he does not understand what has come over him. Some young doctor is looking at his back and is asking him how come he has elephant-shaped wounds on his back. A policeman is asking him if he's involved in voodoo cults or what. Then a phone rings. A male nurse who looks a bit like a drag queen picks it up. "The handsome laddie who was here yesterday, you mean? Sure, I'll tell him. Have a nice day." He then turns to Dr. Lecter.  
"Okay stud - some lady just called asking me to relay a message. Your mum I guess, or maybe your sister. Anyway, she says you should see Auntie Rose upstairs before 2 PM and give her what is in the small envelope in your pants back pocket. If you want I can do that for you, eh."   
  
Very far from the hospital, next to a delicious creek in Alaska, Clarice Starling puts down her mobile phone and starts laughing so hard she just has to fall into the cool water. She doesn't care about the current leading her towards dangerous rapids because she's really, really having fun.  
  
-fin -   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
